


Sidney Crosby Is Straight Up Not Having A Good Time

by only_partly



Series: gospel truth [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Sidney Crosby Has A Crush And Is Furious About It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_partly/pseuds/only_partly
Summary: Objectively, Nicklas Backstrom is weird looking. Objectively, Nicklas Backstrom is the Enemy. Objectively, Sid already has a crush on another weird looking European (thanks, Geno). None of this is stopping his dick from getting real interested in Nicklas Backstrom.Or, Sid's POV of the gospel truth threesome, although you don't have to read it to enjoy this.





	Sidney Crosby Is Straight Up Not Having A Good Time

Sid has, not to put too fine a point on it, just had an orgasm and is furious about it. He’s all about taking responsibility for himself. When he misses a pass or fans on a slapshot, he goes back and practices, focuses on it until he gets it right.

He’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to practice not shooting his load over Nicklas Backstrom, pink and scowling and two seconds from viciously crosschecking someone into the boards.

Exposure therapy? Didn’t work, as his sore dick can attest. Cold turkey? They play the Caps at least four times a year, and usually seven or eight. What is he going to do, say oh sorry Coach; I can’t stop testing the structural integrity of my jockstrap every time the Caps’ star center is across the face off dot so can I please sit this one out.

And the thing is, even for a hockey player Backstrom is weird looking. His body’s proportions are strange and his hands are too small and every time he blinks it looks like there’s a timer going off reminding him humans blink every 10.3 seconds. And Sid can’t stop imagining himself in between those enormous pale thighs or being fingered by those small hands or picturing what it would take to make his steady eyes well up with overstimulated tears.

His crush on Geno he accepted a long time ago; just another part of his routine now. Wake up, piss, shower, shove down unsuppressed longing for his A, brush his teeth and shave. He suspects that Ovechkin knows. It’s somewhat obvious, what with the elaborate winks and suggestive gestures in Geno’s direction whenever Sid makes eye contact with Ovi, but thankfully he hasn’t said anything to Geno about it. Sid also suspects, watching Ovechkin with Backstrom during warmups, that Ovechkin might understand more than he lets on about feelings for a teammate. He sees the way the laughter in Ovechkin’s eyes fades to something more somber and wistful as Backstrom skates away.

It probably makes him a terrible person, getting off to a - coworker? counterpart? nemesis? - even as he falls deeper into whatever the hell is going on with him and Geno, but turnabout is fair play, and since Ovechkin won’t stop whispering things in Geno’s ear that make him go red and hot looking Sid isn’t going to feel bad about his Youtube history. 

Besides, it’s not like he’s ever going to do anything about it. The odds of him sleeping with Backstrom are the same as him sleeping with Ovechkin - just not gonna happen.

* * *

Okay, so, agreeing to go back to Ovechkin’s room with him was a mistake. Sid isn’t even into him, not like he’s into Geno (wholeheartedly) or Backstrom (resigned to his fate). In his defense, he would like to see anyone face the sight of Alexander Ovechkin in a  _ very _ small towel and with his hair already looking like he’d had a few rounds of sex already, grinning engagingly and offering a blowjob, and not go along. Sid is high on the win and off of playing sixty minutes of good hockey and already half hard because Geno had been yelling and then Backstrom had crosschecked someone and the ref hadn’t caught it, which was obviously massively irritating but also like. Sid’s pretty much conditioned at this point, so.

The point is, he’s getting a blowjob from “You call me Alex” Ovechkin and it is

really

fucking

good.

What do they  _ teach _ them in Russia? How to drill home one-timers and dick-sucking 101? He’s trying not to think about Geno and Geno’s mouth and mostly succeeding with the door opens and  _ Nicklas Backstrom _ walks in.

Great. Absolutely fantastic. Sid is naked and hard and can feel himself getting redder and redder and even worse harder and harder beneath that flat, unimpressed stare as he stammers out an apology and excuse. Fuck, how does  _ anyone  _ on the Capitals get anything done?  _ Alex _ seems to be functioning fine, barely pulling off of Sid’s dick long enough to say hello and then he’s back at it like he’s going to get the Cup if he just gets Sid to orgasm fast enough.

Fair play to him, because Sid is probably going to shoot off in the next two seconds if Alex keeps doing that thing with his fingers, and Backstrom is saying something he should maybe be paying attention to, but all he can do is hang on to the sheets and hopefully the last traces of his sanity. Then he hears Backstrom say ‘Malkin’ and he surfaces on a wave of panic, because no, absolutely not. Geno cannot know about this. Geno also doesn’t care about this. Definitely. Probably. Then Alex is saying something weird, because he’s always saying something weird, but Sidney doesn’t really care any more, because Alex has his fingers in his mouth and Backstrom is still just  _ standing _ there with his hands in his pockets staring like it’s open season on turning Sidney Crosby as red as a Capitals jersey.

Alex might be saying something as he takes Sid apart, but it’s the almost nervous blink as Backstrom shifts his weight from one hip to the other that has Sid crying out and coming all over Alex. 

It takes a couple of minutes for his brain to come back online, but he stirs at length, frowning as he notices Alex’s dick, still hard. “I didn’t - did you -”

Alex’s eyes go heavy lidded, and there’s really no term other than purring for his tone when he asks if Sid wants to be good for him. He does, obviously he does, but also, Backstrom is still there, looking two seconds from murdering someone, which is making Sid hot all over again except if Backstrom is really not into this, that’s not hot, that’s just - weird in a bad way.

But after Alex assures him he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want, he glances across the room to see that the glazed-murder look in Backstrom’s eyes might, very possibly, be glazed-arousal, if the state of his shorts is any indication. In which case, well. This is a challenge. And if there’s one thing Sidney Crosby doesn’t back down from, it’s a challenge. He opens up the lines of his body, letting his legs fall open and his shoulders drop, bending his head so he can look up at Alex through his eyelashes. “Please, Alex,” he murmurs, leaning forward to put a hand on the waistband of Alex’s shorts. “Let me be good for you?”

All the breath goes out of Alex’s body in one huge rush, and Sid feels a thrill of triumph. He doesn’t dare risk more than a glance at Backstrom, but one brief look tells him that Backstrom’s mouth has dropped open and one hand is palming himself in his shorts. Bolstered, he frees Alex’s dick from it’s cotton confines and bends his head to the task at hand. It’s big, because of course it is, a thick weight in Sid’s mouth, but despite the threat of choking and dying, he forces himself down farther, until tears are springing into his eyes and his gag reflex is making itself known.

There’s a groan, too far away to be Alex, and Sidney tries to pull off, wanting to see his face, but Alex stops him with one heavy hand on the back of his neck, deep voice rumbling out approval, saying, holy shit, saying how Sid is being so good for him, so good he’s making Nicky, fuck,  _ Nicky _ , they’re not even sticking with hockey nicknames for a shred of deniability, into someone human. Sid wonders if Alex feels the same way as he does, that there’s something about Nicky that makes him seems like he’s not quite on the same level as mere mortals. It seems right, like he and Alex have caught on to something the rest of the world hasn’t quite grasped yet, and Ovi’s voice is warm and soothing and he can feel himself dropping into subspace, despite his best intentions of staying up long enough to  _ win _ .

And then there’s a hand on the back of his neck, too small to be Alex’s, and he’s being pulled off of Ovi’s dick, and he can’t help the small noise of protest, but then he forgets it at once, because  _ Backstrom’s _ here. Nicky, Alex had called him, a strand of hair falling over his forehead, and pointy nose seeming pointier than ever from this close up and his hands are just as small as Sid had thought but also there’s no way he’s getting out of that grip until Nicky lets him, but also he doesn’t  _ want _ to, so he’ll just stay here on his knees and hope that he’ll be good enough that someone will let him get back to sucking their dick.

Nicky’s saying something, though, giving him a little shake, which feels so good Sid almost falls flat on his face, but this is important, he can tell, because Nicky is calling him ‘Crosby’, and he doesn’t like that, he should be calling him Sid, because he’s calling Nicky Nicky, so he pulls himself together enough to get out, “Think you can call me Sid. And ‘m good, I promise.”

He meets Nicky’s eyes as steadily as he can despite the fact that he can feel himself swaying a little, and he must be convincing enough, because there’s a thread of amusement and acknowledgement between them before Backstrom says, “Yes, you are, aren’t you. Sasha is right, you’re being so good.”

Something in Sid’s shoulders gives way like he’s been waiting his whole life for Nicklas Backstrom, sweaty curls and flat green eyes and soft hands, to hold him on his knees and tell him he was good.

The next few minutes pass in mostly a daze, but he comes out of it in a hurry when Nicky touches the side of his neck very gently and pulls him off of Ovi’s dick to ask him what he wants.

He wants - he wants to stay here forever, and to curl into Nicky’s side and be blanketed beneath Alex’s weight until the weight of expectations on him is entirely subsumed into nothingness. He wants Geno here, enormous hands a shivering contrast to Nicky’s delicate ones, kissing him and telling him he loves him back. He wants the impossible, so he grasps at the possibilities within reach and begs Nicky to touch him.

Nicky holds him down with one hand to the back of his neck like he knew a little of what Sid was pleading for and with the other strokes him to completion. It’s like an ache finally finding fulfillment, the gasping moment when he finally comes, almost sobbing with the relief of it. Nicky smiles at him, an expression he’s never had directed at him in all the years they’ve known each other, and Sid suddenly understands why Alex fucking murders anyone who looks sideways at his center. Sid feels like he might drop gloves with Guentzel a few times himself for the privilege of it.

He knows Nicky and Alex are talking, can hear the rise and fall of their voices, but it all seems a distant thing, like waves breaking on sand a long way off. He’s not being addressed and no one needs anything from him; he can just rest, the warmth of Nicky’s hand still lingering on his neck and the bulky, scorching presence of Alex nearby. He’ll have to get up, at some point. He’ll have to get up, and get his head back in the game, and probably deal with why exactly he’s been sleeping with the enemy. More to the point, why he’s been sleeping with the enemy and  _ enjoying _ it so much, but for now he’s just going to drift for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> look, sometimes you just gotta project your horniness over a hockey player onto another hockey player.


End file.
